


Adm C. Pike and C/ J.T. Kirk’s Checklist for Rash and Reckless Captaining

by InsaneSociopath



Series: Living with a Jim [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: CONTENT WARNING:, Canon Rewrite, Chris is beyond unimpressed now, Chris is not a happy bunny, M/M, Post-Star Trek (2009), So very AU, Tarsus IV, The Narada, Torture, and Jim is stressed™, emotional distress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneSociopath/pseuds/InsaneSociopath
Summary: Having somehow managed to survive Jim's academy years, Chris thinks it should be fairly easy sailing from here on out.Yeah go on,laugh it up.





	1. Chapter 1

**1\. Ensure you know how to bullshit.**

Chris looks across the desk at Jim.

Jim stares right back at him. 

“How exactly did it get broken again?” Chris asks slowly into the silence.

“…Tribbles.”

“Explain.”

* * *

Chris was having an odd day.

Again.

Honestly, most of his days were odd now, but this was notably odder than usual. 

It had started off as normal. Phil prodding him out of bed, Jim plying him with coffee until he was capable of basic human speech. Clothes, morning gym session, shower, office. Meet with Archer, discipline a snarky know-it-all Plebe cadet, let Phil throw grapes at him over lunch.

The usual mundane progression of day to day Admiralty living.

Then he’d gotten a Comm call from maintenance about the Turner Lecture theatre complex.

“Why is this my problem?” he’d asked when told about the expanding pile of tribbles slowly filling one of the seminar rooms.

“Because your son is under the pile sir.”

Chris had immediately ditched the stack of paperwork he was chewing through and run over to the Turner building.

* * *

Jim had been fine when he’d arrived, having just crawled out from under the happily trilling fluffy mound.

“Do I want to know how or why this happened son?”

“They just started randomly falling from the ceiling vent and so everyone got up to leave. Only when I got out here, I then realised I’d dropped Spock’s programming chip so I went and crawled back in to save it.”

“Under the tribbles?”

“Under the tribbles.”

Maintenance had then called over xeno-zoology to help out, Jim had laughed and gone to his next class, and then Chris had gone back to his own office confused but satisfied that Jim was okay.

* * *

Then two hours later he’d gotten another comm from tactical-sims saying that the Kobayashi Maru was seriously malfunctioning, and that it was Jim’s fault.

* * *

So here he was now, with Jim standing sheepishly opposite him, his desk between them, asking how the tribbles in the Turner building resulted in a chain-meltdown of the Academy’s most notorious tactical simulation exam. 

“The chip that I borrowed from Commander Spock,” Jim starts carefully, clearly hyper alert of the scowling Commander looming over his shoulder. “It was the main memory drive for the Kobayashi Maru system.”

“And why did Spock lend it to you?”

Jim shuffles nervously.

“After I failed the exam last year, I thought about trying to retake it, but I ended up talking to the Commander about the parameters of the test instead. We had a very long discussion about expected failure, composure, and learnt giving in. In the end, Commander Spock and I agreed that we should seek approval to alter some of the conditions of the test, most notably that is a supposed to be a guaranteed no-win scenario.”

Chris frowns.

“If you took it to the academic board, I should have heard about it given that I’m, _well,_ the head of the academic board…”

“You’re also classified as being related to me sir,” Jim shrugs with a vaguely pleased look. “So by regulation 614.3-R, you have to excluded from all academic hearings that I’m involved in unless you're also accused yourself.”

“That’s a stupid rule,” Chris grumbles, forgetting for an instant the Commander also present and the seriousness of the situation Jim had landed himself in.

“Yes well, the board ruled that we be allowed to do some experimenting on the Maru’s coding so long as the original was backed up and we presented the results before using the new programming in an actual exam.”

“So then you and Commander Spock started working on the coding?”

“Yes Admiral, we did.” Jim nods, leaning slightly forward and away from the increasingly scowly officer hovering behind him still. “To summarise, we ended up adding three scenarios which result in the rescue of the crew of the Kobayashi Maru. Only one of the three doesn’t also result in large losses of life, and each can only be activated by very precise series of decisions and tactical considerations. The idea is that future Cadets taking the test will not go in already resigned to failure.”

“Because that teaches them to stop looking for solutions in the real world too,” Chris finishes, having had this same conversation with Jim several times over the last year. “It’s teaching cadets to give up and give into death, which is not a trait you want in a Captain responsible for the lives of an entire crew.”

“Pretty much,” Jim nods, agreeing with Chris’ statement. “So we made all these changes, and we were going to do the test run today but then the tribbles happened.”

“… The programming chip you had.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know dribbles drooled until today. I was looking after the chip because Spock had a class to teach and I only had a study group. Then when I gave the chip back to Spock this afternoon, he stuck it in the sim and the saliva we didn’t know was on it caused a chain reaction meltdown and fried the whole system.”

“There are three Cadets signed up to take the test tomorrow,” the Commander that had escorted Jim in suddenly snaps. “And now there’s no test for them to take!”

“I can see why that could be a problem,” Chris replies dryly. “But as this sounds entirely like an unfortunate accident, I don’t see what I’m supposed to do about it. Just order the repairs and reschedule the exams that were set for tomorrow.”

“And what about Cadet Kirk?” he growls “You’re just going to let this serious misdemeanour slide without reprimand sir?”

“Well. Accident?” Chris shrugs with deliberate carelessness.

The Commander stares back in disbelieving silence. 

“Will that be all then Commander?” Chris smiles sweetly, still revelling in the power of the pips on his shoulder even eighteen months on.

Rather stiffly, the man utters a “yes Admiral sir,” and strides towards the door with a look like he bit into a sour lemon.

“That’s gonna come back to bite you,” Jim snorts once the door has slid shut. “Blatant favouritism if I ever saw it.”

“I have Marcus, Nogura and Archer all wrapped around my little finger. I’d like to see him try,” Chris grins “Now sit down and tell me what really happened.”

“What? That _is_ what happened.”

 **“Point 2.** Jimmy. **Ensure you know how to detect bullshit as well as spew it.”**

“Oh god, not points again dad. Stay here while I go call Phil for backup!”

* * *

Jim, as it had turned out, had actually been telling the truth about the tribble dribble. 

(Chris decides his bullshit detector is actually still working fine, it just has a Jim-related software bug.)

The blatant favouritism however, very much does come back to bite him in the ass.

* * *

**3\. You must have a plan for all eventualities. ******

“I don’t understand.” Chris states peering again at the PADD Nogura has shoved under his nose the next morning.

“You have to go to an Academic Tribunal tomorrow afternoon Christopher,” Nogura repeats very slowly and sarcastically.

“Why?”

“Because your son destroyed a piece of high tech academic equipment and you let him get away with it.”

“Okay, it was a) an accident, and b) just as much Spock’s fault.”

“Commander Spock is being called up too.”

“Oh, oh great. So we’re both getting put on trial like we’re still Cadets?”

“Basically,” Nogura drawls.

“Spock and Jim aside, all _I_ did was write an accident off as _an accident!_ This is madness!”

Nogura shrugs, looking like he’s about to burst out laughing in any second. 

“Oh good lord, Alexander has signed off on this.” Chris groans as he reaches the end of the document. “This is an elaborate prank surely?”

“Our dastardly overlord, the grand high Admiral Alexander Marcus is no doubt getting his own back for all the trouble you and yours caused him last year.”

“I cannot be blamed for the machinations of a rogue Admiral just because his main co-conspirator happened to be related to me!”

“Oh just go to the tribunal Chris,” Nogura rolls his eyes. “It’ll all blow over in a few days and then we can have a good laugh about it over a few pints.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Chris grits. “I’m not going to let anyone rake Jim over the coals because of a simple unpredictable accident beyond his control!”

Nogura snorts and shifts in his chair, swapping his crossed ankles over and rolling his shoulders.

“Chris the worst they can do is temporarily put him on academic suspension. And trust me, it won’t end up on his record with you, Archer and I micromanaging his entire life. So relax!”

* * *

By the time he makes it home that evening, he’s had to deal with no end of teasing. Archer had known before anyone else (naturally) and had sent a rather humiliating message round to the rest of the Admiralty while Nogura was still explaining the whole thing to him, so he’d spent his afternoon meetings being called Cadet Dunsel by everyone.

“Phil please kill them all for me,” he groans loudly, flopping face down on the couch without so much as undoing his jacket collar. 

“I only work as a hitman for actual pay sunbeam,” Phil calls back from the kitchen.

“I will pay you in snuggles!” he shouts, turning his head sideways to watch his partner through the doorway.

“That’s not a good incentive when I would get those anyway!”

“I will force you to sleep on the sofa for a week!”

“No you won’t because then _you_ won’t get snuggles at night!”

“I will stop holding your hand whenever we’re on campus together!”

“Oh my gods guys!” Jim moans from the general direction of the bedrooms. “Can you not be quite so disgustingly in love please? You’re making me nauseous!”

“We love you son!” Chris calls back with a laugh, while Phil snickers his way through a bad impression of Jim talking to Leo. 

“I’m moving out!” Jim declares, stomping into the front room with a very forced fake-grumpy look.

“Yay!” Chris cheers. “Phil, crack open the champagne! We’re finally free!”

Jim yanks him off the sofa by his arm and proceeds to use him as a foot stool.

* * *

“This tribunal thing tomorrow _won’t_ be a problem right?” Jim asks dozily from the other couch, his head in Bones’ lap and a bowl of nachos balanced on his chest. An old documentary on Scandinavian wildlife flickers slowly across the holoscreen opposite them, and Chris shuffles so he’s leaning on Phil’s shoulder more comfortably. 

“Yeah,” he yawns as Phil slides a hand briefly through the side of his hair. “Archer and Nogura have been taking the piss out of me all day. Literally no-one is taking this seriously so it’ll all be fine.”

* * *

**4\. Don’t ever let your superiors convince you everything will be fine.**

Everything is not fine.

Everything is in fact not-good very-bad awful, and Chris will _not_ relax thank you very much.

“What do you mean Spock, Jim and I are _all_ suspended from duty!?” Chris near gasps, his incredulity overwhelming. He paces in a circle, crowds of Officers and Cadets swarming around him as they rush through the hanger to their assigned shuttles.

“I mean exactly that Chris,” Barnett shrugs looking equally horrified. “It’s madness I know, but that Commander threw that loophole in my face in a non-ignorable manner. We have to follow protocol on this one.”

“Well who’s going to take the Enterprise out to Vulcan!? It can’t just sit there in space dock while we have a natural disaster on hand!”

“Well ordinarily your First Officer would ship out in command instead.”

“Spock is my First Officer.”

“Yes well, that’s why your Second Officer will have to step in instead unfortunately.”

“Richard. My stand-in Second Officer is currently Jim Kirk as half my crew are still out in the Laurentia system.”

Barnett pauses and swallows with a look of alarm.

“…Okay I can see why this grounding is a problem.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Chris snorts. “So now what?”

* * *

**5\. Make as many connections and contacts as you can.**

Because without them, Chris sure he would have _died_ quite some time ago now. 

In this particular case, having contacts means that he can get through to Archer even when the Senior Admiral is absolutely swamped with dealing with increasingly fraught reports from Vulcan.

 _“What Christopher!”_ Archer snaps out, as soon as Chris’ comm call finally connects. “Aren’t you supposed to be up at space dock by now!”

“Well that’s the issue you see,” Chris grunts back, increasingly aggravated himself. “Spock, Jim and I have all been banned from boarding the Enterprise due to some petty outdated academic protocol. I told you that letting this disciplinary hearing go ahead was a bad idea.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Jon growls, “not only do I not have time to deal with this, the entire goddamn _‘Fleet_ does not have time to deal with this. I need the Enterprise to ship out _now!”_

“Well it’s not going anywhere until my XO, my 2IC, and I can get onboard. Which as I just said, we’re currently forbidden from doing so.”

“Alright fuck this, fuck this job, and fuck it all! I’m going to requisition you a shuttle in an underhanded manner. Gather up your posse and I will bypass you through the damn grounding order.”

“This is why I love you the most,” Chris deadpans.

“I am going to end you Christopher Pike. Marcus is right, you are a _pain.”_

“Awww I knew you loved me too.”

“No I damn well do not. Now grab Spock and co and fuck off so I can do my actual job.”

The comm cuts out with a sharp crackle, and Barnett eyes him with a slightly awed look. 

“Man, I am so glad you’re the one who has to work with him daily and not me,” the gruff Admiral chuckles. 

“Trust me Rich, Marcus is far worse than Archer,” Chris shouts back over his shoulder as he jogs towards where Spock and Jim are standing with blank and anxious looks respectively.

* * *

“Sir, I am not sure I understand.” Spock states, as he stows his personal crate into the shuttle. “I am given to believe that what we are doing essentially constitutes stowing away. We are after all, sneaking onboard a Federation Vessel we are not officially authorised to access.”

“Well when you put it like Spock…” Phil trails off with a smirk, rubbing his hands over Chris’ shoulders as he steps passed him. 

“I always wanted to be a stow away,” Jim smiles, staring vacantly at the back of the shuttle. 

“USS Odyssey when you were nine, Caitlin Barry, and my Jefferies tubes,” Chris rattles off with a smirk. “Your mom gave me holopics.”

“I never got to leave space dock,” Jim grumbles, “So it totally didn’t count.”

 **“Point 6,”** Chris states with an amused look, **“Always check your Jefferies tubes for unexpected visitors.”**

“I told you to cut that points bullshit out Christopher!” Phil calls from the other end of the shuttle.

 **“Point 7!”** Jim shouts back. **“Ignore your CMO even if he claims it’s life or death!”**

Spock looks back and forth between the two groups with a very faintly befuddled expression. Leo steps over smoothly and claps a hand down on the Vulcan’s shoulder. 

“Spock,” he drawls, “trust me when I say you do _not_ want to know about the Admiral’s crazy listing habits.”

“I believe it would be wise to concur Doctor.”

* * *

“Bingo!” Chris crows just as they begin the final approach to the Enterprise, Jim and Leo guiding the shuttle smoothly towards the main hanger bay. “Nogura just got all our ranks restored!”

“So we’re not stowaways now?” Jim asks with a pout clear in his voice.

“Oh we are,” Phil answers. “We’re just not rank-less stowaways anymore.”

“I fail to see how this improves our situation.” Spock states levelly.

“Oh aren’t you a joyful ray of sunshine,” Leo grumbles, helping Jim lower their linear velocity skilfully.

* * *

Chris’ first order of business once they’ve finally made it onto the Enterprise is to stow their gear and find uniforms. Phil and Leo, not having this issue never having been grounded, head off towards Medbay, leaving Chris with Spock and Jim trailing after him. 

“Right so we might have a bit of trouble with the uniform replicators, seeing as we’re not going to be in the computer’s database as active personnel.”

“I’ll hack it if needs be,” Jim grunts, his head buried in a PADD as they stride down the centre of the corridor, fingers of his right hand tapping away at the screen rapidly.

“Spock can help you with that,” Chris states, nodding in acknowledgement as various crewmen offer up salutes.

“Admiral, I do not think it wise to resort to-”

“Commander Spock will help you with that Commander Kirk,” Chris smirks over the top of Spock, ignoring the Vulcan’s blank look of irritation he gets in return.

“Wait what,” Jim blinks, stopping dead in the middle of the corridor, another Cadet knocking into his shoulder in surprise. “Did I just get unfairly promoted again?”

“Oh didn’t I say in the shuttle?” Chris grins, continuing to walk away. “Nogura restored your rank incorrectly. Take it up with him, not me.”

* * *

Chris’ uniform shirt is… interesting. 

The standard primary colour tops only came into use about ten years ago, an update on the previous navy blue with metallic panelling. During that time, no Commodore or Admiral had yet had a reason to be actively commanding a ship long term, and so no designs had ever been commissioned for ranks beyond Fleet Captain; until now, any flag officer on board a ship or Starbase had simply worn their dress uniform.

“White and Gold.” Jim comments, holding the shirt up. “Looks pretty good actually. Why is it not just gold with more stripes on the sleeve or pips on the shoulder or something?”

“Beats me kid, but I’m not complaining,” Chris shrugs back, watching as Spock inputs another line of code to override the lockout on their ‘Fleet profiles. “Oh look, my undershirts are white too.”

“Well that’s a disaster in the making,” Jim mumbles through his own shirt as he pulls it down over his head. “Every mucky mark and drop of blood is going to show.”

“I admit that I am in accordance with Cadet Kirk Admiral,” Spock states with a blink. “His concerns about your uniform are logical and well thought out.”

“Guess I better stay clean and unharmed then Mr Spock.”

“Please do Admiral; such care for yourself would please Doctor Boyce greatly and boost his moral.”

“Don’t!” Chris growls with a stern finger pointed at a smirking Jim. “I know what you’re thinking and don’t say it.”

Jim only smirks harder.

* * *

“What?” Jim asks as he stumbles to a halt behind Chris.

They’ve just stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge.

Chris stares at the Captain’s chair.

“Who are you?” he snaps out, stalking towards the centre of the bridge. “And why are you sat in my chair Captain?”

 **8\. When you have rank, don't be afraid to _use it._**

The woman in the gold command tunic raises a single eyebrow.

“I’m your replacement sir. And you're on _my_ ship.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chris stares.

“The Enterprise is my command Captain,” he bites out eventually. “Has been since day one of her construction.”

“You’re grounded and on probation Mr Pike. So get off my ship before I have you thrown off.”

“That’s _Admiral_ Pike to you,” he seethes. “And unless you give me your name and get out of my chair _right now_ , I’ll have you thrown in the brig for insubordination.”

“I am Captain Alexandra Marcus and I have every right to remain in this chair regardless of your order. You’re on _my_ vessel and so matters of command fall under my jurisdiction _Admiral.”_

Chris does his best to never let his temper get the better of him, but right now he can tell he’s a single word away from loosing his shit. Especially as this woman is apparently some hitherto unheard of relative of Alexander Marcus’. 

“Sir,” Jim suddenly interjects calmly, putting his hand on Chris’ shoulder. “Perhaps you should comm Archer again?” 

Chris takes a deep breath. Exhales. Unclenches his fists. 

Takes another slow breath and reaches into his pocket for his long-range comm.

“I was ordered to take this post by Admiral Marcus himself,” Marcus snaps at him just as he’s managed to force his facial expression back into a semblance of neutrality. “So if you continue to refuse to leave my ship, then at the very least you can get off of my bridge and let me do my job!”

Spock steps next to Chris before he can snap back again, shoulder straight, hands clasped behind hind back, a perfect picture of calm. Smoothly, he hands Chris an open Comm device, the small screen already showing a connected frequency.

“Admiral Archer would like a word with you Admiral,” Spock states stoically. “I took the liberty of contacting him on your behalf while you were conversing.”

“Oh I _bet_ he wants a word,” he mutters, snatching the device from Spock and stalking back towards the turbolift doors, Jim on his heels.

“Pike here. What the hell is going on Jon,” he growls, glaring back over his shoulder at the Captain scowling at him still. 

“Alex screwed up is what happened.” Archer sighs back, sounding weary, resigned, and more than a little hacked off. “He thought you wouldn’t be able to get around the grounding fast enough to see the Enterprise out of dock. His sister happened to be visiting with him when the call about Vulcan first came in and offered to help out. Then suddenly she hears about your situation and she’s volunteering to take the Enterprise out and Alex failed to say no fast enough.”

“Well I’m here now and I want her out of my hair! For nova’s sake, I didn’t even know he had a sister! And I’ve known him how many years!? Why the hell has he never mentioned her?”

“That’s because they do _not _get along,” Archer replies, the curl of amusement in his voice just detectable over the natural crackle of the comm. “So he avoids mentioning her existence whenever possible.”__

“Oh joy, no wonder she doesn’t like me,” Chris groans back. “Everybody in the ‘Fleet will know I’m Alex’s successor to by now.”

“Well I’m sending over reliving of duty papers now, but it’s too late to shuttle her back to Earth and the transporters are all over taxed as it is. So as you’re stuck with her, please try to be at least moderately civil.”

Chris grimaces, glaring down at the Comm so hard that he hopes Archer will _hear_ it on the other end.

“Fine,” he mutters eventually, looking up and trying to smile at Jim reassuringly when he notices his lad’s own frown. “I can try to play nice so long as she stops trying to boss me around.”

“Well given that Jim has thoroughly proven that you’re the biggest pushover this side of the Arcadian cascade Nebulas-”

“-Don’t finish that sentence Johnathon,” he cuts over the Admiral wryly, raising an eyebrow at Jim who has suddenly spilt into a cheeky grin. “I’ll see you back on Earth when we’ve sorted this mess out for the Vulcans. Pike out.”

He closes the comm with a flick of his wrist, and turns back towards the centre of the bridge.

“Once more unto the breach,” Jim mumbles in his ear as they step once more towards the Chair.

* * *

Captain Marcus is stood beside him with a look that could turn people to stone.

Chris however, is feeling smug and rather happy to be sat back in _his_ chair.

**9\. Sometimes, its okay to gloat.**

* * *

“Captain. Engineering reports ready for launch.”

“Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, the maiden voyage of our newest flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today. A christening will just have to be our reward for a safe return.”

He leans back in the chair, nodding to Jim as he strides over confidently to the Tactical Station. Sliding his fingers over the control panel in the Chair arm, he opens up the ship wide channel, and fully mentally settles into Command mode.

“All decks, this is Admiral Pike, prepare for immediate departure. Helm, thrusters.”

“Moorings retracted, Admiral. Dock control reports ready. Thrusters, fired. Separating from Spacedock.”

He watches through the view screen as they slowly inch away from the dock, anticipation thrumming up and down his spine as the other ships heading for Vulcan do the same. He doesn’t know the kid sat at the helm, but half his crew is made up of Cadets so that’s no surprise.

“The fleet’s cleared Spacedock Admiral. All ships ready for warp.”

“Set a course for Vulcan.”

“Aye aye Admiral. Course laid in.”

Chris grins to himself. Oh boy has he missed this.

“Maximum warp. Punch it.”

The engines whir. The thrumming of the ship increases. Chris leans forward, breathing in deeply-

There’s a shudder and-

And nothing.

Chris sits back again, blinking.

Every head on the bridge has swivelled to look at the poor guy sat at the helm.

“Lieutenant, where is Helmsman McKenna?” Chris asks dryly. 

“He has lungworm sir. He couldn’t report to his post. I’m Hikaru Sulu.”

Chris can only see the back of the young man’s head, but he can feel the embarrassment pouring off him in waves anyway.

“And you are a pilot right?” he drawls, exchanging an amused look with Captain Marcus to his left.

“Uh very much so sir. I’m uh, not sure what’s wrong.”

And he should probably stop teasing the guy so much, but-

“Is the parking brake on?”

-but after the hell this morning was, he’s quite enjoying the simple humour.

“Oh shit wait!” Jim suddenly cuts in, turning around from his panel. “I think it’s indirectly my fault Lieutenant. It’ll be the external inertial dampener; we had to unprogramme the automatic disengage in order to recouple the mooring retractor with the rest of the dock separation procedure.”

“Your tactical officer is also a starship programmer sir?” Marcus mutters to him in confusion as Sulu taps a couple of buttons on the helm control. 

“Commander Kirk is also a fully qualified engineer and a polyglot,” he grins back proudly. “Between him and Spock, you could probably dispense with most of the crew and let them run this girl by themselves.”

Marcus stares at him blankly. 

**10\. Always give your crew the recognition they deserve**

“Ready for warp Sir,” Sulu thankfully announces before he can descend further into proud parental gushing. 

Chris turns back to the front viewscreen and smirks again.

“Let’s punch it.”

* * *

“Engines at maximum warp Admiral.”

Chris nods back to Sulu in acknowledgement and then turns to look at Marcus, who had paced around the bridge and peered at every station before returning to stand glowering by Chris’ side. 

“Did you already read the brief Captain?” he asks genially.

“On the shuttle ride up here.”

“One hell of an odd natural phenomena don’t you think? Extreme seismic activity preceded by a strange anomalous storm in empty space.”

“I’ve seen some wild and weird things during my years with the ‘Fleet, but a lightening storm in the middle of nowhere?”

“Hmm,” Chris agrees, eyes flicking back to the forward view screen again. “Not something I’ve ever heard abo-”

He stops mid-sentence with a growing awful suspicion.

“What?” Marcus asks cautiously, eyeing his horrified expression with a concerned look of her own. 

“Russian whiz kid, what's your name? Chenko, Chirpoff?” Chris babbles, pushing a couple of buttons on his arm panel to send a ping to Phil down in Medbay.

“Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, sir,” the boy corrects with good humour.

“Well Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, begin shipwide mission broadcast please.”

As soon as Ensign Chekov has turned back to his panel and started sounding out the authorisation codes, Chris jumps to his feet.

“Spock! Kirk!” he calls. “My ready room now! You too Marcus.”

* * *

He can see in Jim’s eyes the instant that the implication of his words sink in.

The panic and horror turning into resignation.

The resignation fading into the blankness that means he thinking at a mile a minute. 

“Uhura…” he mutters. “Bones and I- I went to talk to Gaila about the Kobayashi Maru, took Bones with me. Nyota came in, started telling Bones about some deep space transmissions from a Klingon prison planet she’d intercepted.”

“And this is related how Kirk?” Marcus cuts in rather sharply.

“She said that the transmission detailed the destruction of forty-seven Klingon Warbirds. At the hands of a Romulan.”

Chris has the shipwide broadcast frequency loaded up on the room’s Comm almost before Jim has finished speaking, exceedingly relieved that Chekov must have already finished his own briefing. 

“Admiral Pike to crew: Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura, report to the bridge immediately and with haste.”

He closes the channel with a hand slapped down on the desk decisively.

“Spock, go find out if the Cadet manning the Communications panel knows enough Romulan to successfully scan the space around Vulcan.”

“And if he does not Admiral?”

“Replace him with someone who does. Kirk, talk to engineering and make sure our shields can be raised to maximum at a moment’s notice, and then you have the conn until I return.”  
   
**11\. It’s not paranoia if your suspicions are rooted in truths.**

“You think we’re about to be attacked…” Captain Marcus says slowly, as the two officers rush back out onto the bridge. “That we’re going to fly straight into a trap.”

“Oh I’m almost certain of it,” Chris states resignedly back.

* * *

Leo arrives on the bridge right on Uhura’s heels, both of them obviously having run most of the way up.

“Doctor, Lieutenant,” Chris greets the professionally, gesturing them over to where he’s stood by the side of the Captain’s chair, Jim still sat tensely in it. “I need confirmation of the details of this transmission that was intercepted. Warbirds being destroyed?”

“Yes sir, by a Romulan sir,” Uhura reports crisply. “forty-seven of them in one go. I intercepted and translated it myself.”

“An unparalleled ability to identify sonic anomalies in subspace transmission tests, right Spock?” Chris directs to his first officer, stepping towards him.

“And excellent aural sensitivity,” the commander agrees neutrally.

“And you can confirm this report McCoy?”

“Well I was told about it Admiral. Late last night. Just after midnight maybe?”

“Good enough for me. Uhura, go assist Spock at the communications panel. Kirk! Reports from engineering?”

“Shields ready to be raised at 130% standard level sir, and the ship’s armoury on standby.”

Chris closes his eyes and takes a slow breath in.

He holds it.

Opens his eyes.

“Kirk, out of my chair. Shields up, red alert!”

“Vulcan’s not experiencing a natural disaster is it?” Marcus says shakily.

“No,” Jim replies, switching places with Chris swiftly. “It’s being attacked by Romulans.”

 **“Point 12,”** Chris says out loud **“Don’t ignore your instincts.”**

**“Point 13.” Jim adds, gripping the back of the Chair to brace himself “Always assume the worst.”**

* * *

Ships, scattered about like shattered glass.

Officers and Cadets, lost to the airless voice of space.

Destruction and death, spread out as far as can be seen.

And amongst it all, a gigantic black mass of metal tentacles, hovering menacingly above Vulcan like an abominable omen. 

Chris grips the Chair arms as Helmsman Sulu skilfully manoeuvres them under a huge broken off section of the USS Defiant. Alarms blare, the red alert siren continues to flash across the bridge, questions, answers, commands and orders are called out, and Chris adds his own voice to cacophony, keeping a tight grip on the organised chaos their arrival above Vulcan has resulted in.

And then there are torpedoes and explosions and their communications are disabled.

And Chris realises that for all his frantic planning in the moments before they dropped out of warp, they may all be about to die anyway.

* * *

“Captain we’re being hailed!”

* * *

“You can’t go,” Jim blurts out as soon as the viewscreen switches back to the scene of destruction between them and Vulcan. “He’ll kill you, you know that. 

“Your survival is unlikely,” Spock adds, with a blank but knowing glance at Jim.

“Admiral, we gain nothing through diplomacy and lose you. Going over to that ship is a mistake.”

The not-quite hidden terror in Jim’s voice is breaking his heart.

But.

But what choice does he have?

He _has_ to buy the crew some time.

Has to buy Jim and Phil and Bones and everyone else some time.

 **“14. The lives of others are always more important than your own.** _Your_ life is more important than mine son,” he chokes out, Spock offering a single nod in agreement. “Now commanders, get me some volunteers who are trained in advanced hand to hand and meet me down in the shuttle bay.”

He hands the Conn off to Chekov, orders McCoy back to Medbay, and strides off the bridge with his heart in his throat.

* * *

He stops in the corridor that leads out onto the main engineering bay catwalk. 

There’s a comm panel attached to the wall.

He stares at it. 

_Should_ he comm Phil?

His Phil? Down in Medbay with Doctor Puri, working hard to save the lives of everyone injured in the torpedo impacts?

What if he’s in surgery right now and can’t answer?

What if he _does_ answer and their last words are one of love, but ones given in terror and tears?

Will he be able to stand those last few seconds on the Narada as he stares death in the eyes knowing he could have spoken to Phil one last time if he doesn’t?

But will he be able to stand those last few seconds knowing that he did speak to Phil and Phil now knows where he is and what’s about to happen to him? Knowing that Phil will be so compromised by his choice that the Enterprise will lose one of its finest to despair and anguish? Lose one of its finest in its hour of greatest need?

He walks passed the Comm panel without touching it.

* * *

“Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship, we can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our job.” Chris enunciates clearly to the small group that joins him by the shuttle bay’s doors. “Mister Kirk, Mister Sulu, Engineer Olson, will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside. You'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship. Once we have transport capabilities, communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet, report what the hell's going on here. And if literally all else fails, fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. I suppose I ought to leave Captain Marcus in charge, but Kirk, Spock? Don’t be afraid to overrule her if you need to. Work together as equals and do what is both right and necessary.”

“Sir?” Jim asks curiously, obviously confused.

“Admiral, please, I apologise. I have always perceived you to be an individual who holds great respect for Starfleet’s rank system-”

“What is right and necessary Spock, even if Marcus says otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Not presently, but I will endeavour to discern the meaning of your words as soon as I am able.”

“Good enough. Jim, tell Phil I love him and look after each other. Now let’s go.”

“Sir- Chris- Dad-. After- after we knock out that drill? What happens to you?”

“Oh I guess you’ll have to come get me,” he grins wryly. “Now careful with ship boys, she’s brand new.”

* * *

He’s alone in the shuttle’s Cabin so no one can see his hands shaking. He takes a moment before the fall out of range with the Enterprise’s communications to tap out a few words on the Padd still stuffed inside his jacket pocket next to the ration bar he still keeps on hand for Jim. 

Four brief messages.

One for his Dad and grandparents. For his sister and her family. _You made me the man I am today._

One for Bones. _I trust you with Jim._

One for his boy, for his Jim. _I will always be with you, in your heart. And you will always be in mine. You are loved and you are worthy._

One for Phil. 

_Words cannot express the depth of my love for you._

* * *

“Gentlemen, we're approaching the drop zone. You have one shot to land on that platform. You may have to fix this to pull your 'chute as late as possible. Three... two... one.” He opens the shuttle’s drop door. “Remember, the Enterprise won't be able to beam you back until you turn off that drill. Good luck. And Jim?”

“Yeah?”

 **“Point 15. A good Captain is one who loves his ship and crew like the family they are.** Come up with a good Point sixteen while I’m gone yeah?”

Chris pulls the lever and drops the three men before Jim has a chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't started writing the next chapter yet, but here's your warning that it will probably not be pretty.
> 
> New tags might be added, and the rating may be raised. We'll see. depends on how I end up writing it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am. so. _very._ sorry.

When the shuttle door opens, the air is cold and has a bitter taste that coats the back of his tongue like a vile film. 

They are waiting for him.

The Romulans. 

Four of them, all smirking and pointing weaponry in his direction.

The shuttle door slides shut behind him and Chris trembles.

* * *

He stumbles frequently as they walk through the hell-scape calling itself a ship.

Cables, tubes, pipes, running across the floor and along the walkways like a twisted sinuous mechanical nervous systems.

Steps.

Up and down and round and round, and never, ever with hand rails or safety barriers.

He could step off one of these bridges, and save himself from the pain undoubtedly lying in wait for him. 

But.

But he still needs to buy his family more time. Phil and Jim and Bones and Spock, they need _more_ time.

* * *

He pauses, once.

As they trek seemingly forever through this living nightmare.

A hand slams down on his shoulder when he does not move further, driving him to his knees with bruising force into the black sludgy water below.

He cries out lowly, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

“On your feet, _Christopher,”_ one of the Romulans sneers, humour thick and harsh in his growling tone.

He stands, and the hand on his shoulder squeezes so tight for a long second, that Chris can feel the bones in his neck grinding together.

He does not deliberately pause again.

* * *

They take him to a viewscreen.

A small, grimy portal out looking down onto Vulcan. 

In the distance, beyond the few faint whispers of cloud hovering in the planet’s atmosphere, he can see the top of the drill.

Jim will be down there right now probably.

Jim and the Sulu kid, and that annoying asshole engineering dude that replaced Kait when Number One borrowed her to go out to the Laurentian system. 

Hopefully, they’ll blow the damn thing to oblivion soon and be beamed back up to safety above.

* * *

He sees a small explosion, but the drill remains intact.

He is kneeling once more in one of the dirty pools that lie between the metal struts raised up from the floor.

Slowly, the water is soaking up his thighs and into the hem of his shirt. He’s so cold his fingertips are beginning to turn blue.

“Captain Nero wants you watch Christopher,” the same Romulan from before leers.

“Watch what?” Chris asks, trying, trying, trying to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice.

“The end of everything you hold dear.”

* * *

The drill is retracted, and the water has soaked to his chest.

He shivers.

Below him, the surface of Vulcan begins to tremble.

“What are you doing!?” Chris cries out in alarm.

His hands land on the viewscreen and he stares in horror.

“You have to stop it!” he cries. “You have to stop it!”

“No. We do not.”

Chris gasps in horror again, his breathing erratic as Vulcan collapses in on itself before his very eyes.

* * *

He screams and rages as they laugh, revelling in the destruction of an entire civilisation. 

But they do not like his angry words.

So they push his head under the water.

Until he nearly chokes on the murky liquid.

And then they let him up to gasp in sweet, sweet oxygen.

And then they do it again.

He begs, and begs.

But they do not stop laughing.

* * *

“Hello Christopher.”

Chris forces himself to find the energy to raise his head stare this man - _this monster_ \- in the eyes.

“Nero.” He snarls back.

The bayonet blade pressed against his back pushes slightly harder, and his drenched through white and gold command shirt begins to tear along his spine. He tips forward to avoid it’s sting, one hand plunging into the murky depths beside his knee.

“Bring him. We have work to do.”

They lift by his arms and drag him away from the view of empty space where an entire planet used to stand.

* * *

He is strapped down and left alone in the darkness. 

Nero leaves to see his ship into warp.

He cannot feel his toes in his sodden boots and his hands shake in their restraints.

* * *

**17\. Remain Strong.**

Chris says it over and over in his mind as he listens to the distant echo of water drops and creaking metal.

The table he is tied down upon vibrates slightly with the familiar pulse of a ship at warp.

But it is not familiar enough.

It is a deeper rumble, a longer wavelength more suited to a ship of this unimaginable size.

It is yet another reminder that he is not where he should be.

**17\. Remain Strong.**

Remain strong for Phil and Jim. 

If not for himself.

* * *

“You must have a lot of questions for me. I only have one for you.”

Chris stares up into the face of the Romulan he is learning to hate with every fibre of his being. 

“I need the subspace frequencies of Starfleet’s border protection grids. Specifically, those surrounding Earth.”

Chris does not respond.

“Christopher, answer my question.”

“No,” Chris growls back. “You answer for the genocide you just committed against a peaceful-”

“I prevented a genocide!” Nero roars. Chris flinches back helplessly in the face of his rage. “In my time, where I come from, this is a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of honest labour, to provide for myself and the wife who was expecting my child. I was off-planet, doing my job, while your Federation did nothing and allowed my people to burn while my planet broke in half. And Spock, he didn't help us. He betrayed us!”

Chris doesn’t understand.

“No, no, you're confused,” he states. Begs almost. “You've been misinformed. Romulus hasn't been destroyed. It's out there right now. You're blaming the Federation for something that hasn't happened!”

“It has happened! I watched it happen! I saw it happen! Don't tell me it didn't happen!”

 _But it hasn’t happened!_ Chris screams inside is own mind. He does not dare say the words out loud again, not when he is afraid of what Nero may do to him in retribution, what his eyes promise should he utter them again. 

“And when I lost her, I promised myself retribution.” Nero continues, flicking on a blinding white hologram of a woman. “And for twenty-five years, I planned my revenge against the Federation, and forgot what it was like to live a normal life. I did not forget the pain. That's the pain that every surviving Vulcan now shares. My purpose, Christopher, is to not simply avoid the destruction of the home that I love, but to create a Romulus that exists free of the Federation. You see, only then will she be truly saved. That is why I will destroy all the remaining Federation planets, starting with yours.” 

Chris tears his stinging, burning eyes away from the flickering image and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“The we have nothing left to discuss.”

He knows Nero will try to make him regret those words.

But.

**17\. Remain Strong.**

But there is nothing else he can say.

* * *

“Christopher Pike, Admiral, USS Enterprise, Serial Number-”

He screams

And he screams

And he screams.

* * *

Oh god, he screams.

* * *

_Burning, burning, burning._

_There is only pain._

_In him._

_And around him._

_In his very soul and heart and mind._

_Oh Phil, why does it burn so?_

* * *

“TELL ME THE CODES!”

_He cannot, he cannot, he cannot._

_He will not._

“Christopher Pike, Admiral, USS Enter- OH GOD PLEASE!”

_HE WILL NOT._

* * *

_Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing._

“Captain Pike,” he cries, “Admiral Pike, Admiral Pike, Enterprise, Enterprise.”

* * *

“Two-zero-f- four-four-one…”

“I don’t want your serial number Christopher!”

_No, no, no, no, no…._

“Tell me the codes!”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, two-zero-four-”

* * *

“Christopher.”

The voice is distant and purring and crooning.

He does not like it.

“Hello Christopher, open your mouth for me again Christopher.”

Chris does not.

Will not.

“ **Point 17,** ” he chants through his clamped teeth. “Phil, Phil, Phil. I love Phil, I love Phil. **Point 17**.”

“OPEN YOUR DAMN VILE MOUTH HUMAN!”

* * *

They shock him.

Over and Over and Over and Over.

Little electrical jolts that cramp his every muscle.

That zip over his skin in the sweat and muck and stagnant pool water.

And sear him to his core.

He cannot see for the pain. 

He Will Not Talk.

* * *

Phil is there.

_Smiling at him._

_“It’s okay Christopher, you can tell them,”_

“No Phil,” he sobs back. “I promised no.”

_“Tell them for me baby, tell them and the pain will stop.”_

“Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen.”

* * *

“Sir, he’s going to code if we don’t-”

“I want those codes!”

* * *

“Capt- no no no. Admiral, _Admiral. / _Pike. Pike. Pike. Two-zero, two-zero, two-zero-four. Captain Admiral Pike.”__

* * *

Floating, floating, floating.

Chris is going boating.

With Phil on a giant spill.

A spill of tears.

Oh very dear.

Why is he here?

To face the fear?

Is the future near?

Or is it now?

Will Jim ever know?

How much he’s _loved._

* * *

_The water trickles down his arm, but he is so numb to it. Somewhere in the distance, a hand is stroking his cheek._

The words come without permission. He has no control anymore.

_“You’re such a good boy Christopher, your Phil is so very proud of you and your son is waiting. Thank you so much Christopher.”_

Chris is never letting anyone use his full name ever again.

* * *

They take away the slug.

Or well- they immobilise it.

Its still _there._

In _him._

He can _feel_ it.

Above his throat, sending spasms down his spine.

And he has lost. 

Lost to a chemical beyond his control.

**18\. You will never be good enough**

He broke point 17, and now he prays for swift death. 

He weeps.

* * *

“Starfleet had a little lamb, its name was baby Chris;

“And everywhere that Starfleet went, to go too, the lamb did wish…

“It followed them to space one day, which made the lamb a fool;

“It made the Romulan’s weep with joy, to make it break the rule.

“And so the Starfleet turned it out, and took away its friends;

“And Chris the lamb was left alone, its suffering to never end.

“Why does the lamb love Starfleet so? The eager Romulan’s cry;

“Because it is loyal and yet so weak,” the broken Chris replies.”

Chris ends his own pathetic singing with a choked off gurgle, his tears and laughter mixed together in one wrenchingly agonising wail of misery.

* * *

There’s a stain.

On the patch of ceiling up above his head.

He supposes it’s really a bulkhead rather than the underside of a deck, with the way it angles sharply upwards.

And actually there are many stains.

But this one? This one looks like Jim.

In an abstract, wishful thinking kind of way.

All that’s left to him is wishfully thinking.

So.

So he’ll wish.

* * *

“Hey where’s the best place to get a stiff drink round here?” he croaks to the lone Romulan standing guard. “Got any decent whiskey lying around?”

The Romulan snarls harshly back in his own native language, a series of angry guttural noises that make Chris cringe away instinctively.

“Alright sheesh,” he mutters back. “Just be glad I stopped singing.”

* * *

“Up and down the city road,  
In and out the Eagle,  
That’s the way the credit goes,  
Pop! Goes the weasel!”

“I will cut out your tongue human, if you do not cease your nonsense.”

“Every night when I go out,  
The monkey’s on the table,  
Take a stick and knock it off,  
Pop! Goes the-!”

The last words are drowned out as he chokes on the barrel of filthy fluid that’s poured over his head.

* * *

He does not sing again once he can breathe once more.

He could feel the slug moving in the top of his spine as he struggled and now his legs are numb.

* * *

He’s alone now.

Except for his thoughts.

And the constant _drip drip drip groan creak_ of the ship around him.

His guard has left.

When the alarms stared blaring; left him alone.

He hopes he will return and kill him soon.

It is a vain hope though.

So instead, he cries.

* * *

Was that?

Was that an explosion?

Perhaps Starfleet will blow this monstrous ship to rubble before it can reach Earth. 

Perhaps, somehow, Jim and Spock and Phil managed to warn Command before Vulcan- Before Vulcan was destroyed.

Or after, when Jim was beamed back on board the Enterprise

_Please let him have been beamed back aboard the Enterprise._

Perhaps, this ship will burn and take him gratefully down with it.

* * *

No-

No, he can’t be-

He’s just another illusion, another twisted hallucination.

Another image conjured by his drugged and poisoned mind.

His Jim, _his boy,_ is _not_ scurrying towards him, phaser held before him with intent.

“Jim,” he tries to croak. It barely comes out at a whisper.

“Jim,” he tries again with more hope, as his son downs a Romulan with a single well aimed shot.

And then he’s there.

And he’s _real._

Chris could cry again.

Chris _is_ going to cry again.

“ **Nine-teen** ,” he stutters, hands shaking as Jim undoes the buckles. “ **Never give up hope.”**

“Missed you too, dad,” Jim smiles. And oh, Chris is going to bottle that smile and treasure it forever. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

Chris is never letting go of his blonde idiot ever again. 

Not even if-

His hand has moved before his brain has even processed what he’s seeing.

Jim’s phaser, two swift shots, and the Romulans fall into the water pooling on the floor. 

Jim looks at him terrified and panting as he lets his body go slack again, agony racking up his spine once again. He grimaces and bites his tongue, forcing himself not to cry out while Jim can hear him. 

“What are you even doing here son?” he groans out as Jim finishes undoing the other buckles and hauls him upright. Groans out so disbelievingly, and so very relieved. 

“Just following orders dad.”

With his arm around his son’s shoulders, still trembling and exhausted and in so, so much pain, he breathes in his last gulp full of toxic Narada air, and realises he has never been more glad to feel the transporter energy tingling at his fingers.

* * *

Bones is there as soon as they materialise in the transporter room. 

Calling Jim’s name and wrapping his arms around Chris’ other side. 

“I got him!” Bones shouts reassuringly, and Jim squeezes his arm one last time before he’s sprinting away once more.

“He looks like shit,” Chris grunts as a second doctor takes Jim’s place.

“Yeah well, so do you Chrissy,” Leo drawls back amused. “Now come on, we are going straight to Medbay.”

* * *

A dozen different alarms go off as soon as he’s lowered onto a biobed. 

Medbay looks like a bomb went off in it.

With its scorched walls, and missing equipment.

“Doctor! His medulla oblongata is-!”

“I know, I know!” Leo cuts the nurse off, standing back with a look of utterly horrified perplexation on his face. He runs his hand back through his hair, and draws in a few deep breathes. Falls into an eerie stillness as his eyes roam over the biobed readouts. 

Chris watches his face with growing panic.

“What?” he gasps “Leo what’s the problem?”

“Prep me a theatre room _now,”_ Bones suddenly demands, turning to shout it across the room. “I need a gravimetric isolation suite loading up, every single nerve-safe neutraliser you can find me, and the strongest analgesics we still have in stock!”

“Bones! Bones!” Chris garbles as nurses and other staff members suddenly start rushing around the room.

“Chris, its gonna be okay,” Leo says a lot more softly, turning back to face him and crouching down to his level. “I am going to make it okay, but I need you to tell me how long that bug has been latched onto your brainstem.”

“I don’t-I don’t know,” he stutters, his hands trembling and his lungs screaming as they fail to take in enough oxygen. “I couldn’t- there was just pain!”

“Woah, woah breathe Chris, it’s okay.”

“But, but-”

“I’ll estimate okay. You’ll be fine Admiral. I’m going to make sure everything will be fine Christopher.”

“Don’t call me that, don’t call me that-” he sobs.

“What? Your rank or your full name?”

“-Please, please just Chris, just Chris,” he babbles on over the top of Leo.

“Okay Chris, I can do that. I’m going to give you a hypo now, and it’s going to make you feel very weird alright?”

Chris nods once sharply, his throat suddenly too constricted for further words.

Bones nods back as Chris tries to reach out and grip his hand.

And then there’s a hiss.

And finally:

Sweet, sweet oblivion.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

_Wait?_ He thinks through the haze in the seconds before the blackness takes him. _Where was Phil?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a serious note, I need to know whether or not this warrants a rating upgrade and some additional tags. I've already added a few, but I want to strike a balance between adequate content warning and not spoiling the story.


	4. Chapter 4

Is that… light?

He does not know.

* * *

Is there anybody here?

Who can tell him where he is?

Or at least where he has been?

Because he feels so lost,

And wants to be found again.

* * *

**20\. Sometimes you have to keep giving even after you’ve given your all.**

“Chris, can you hear me?”

Who’s that?

Why is it so dark?

And why does everything… tingle?

“Chris squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Squeeze? What hand?

“I don’t think he’s responsive Doctor,” another voice says. 

“His activity readings have gone up considerably, he should be coming round.”

Coming round? Has he been asleep? Unconscious?

Is he in Medbay?

He groans.

“Okay, he’s definitely coming round,” the second voice says.

“Get me 10 ccs of kenzyphinolanine; he’s not going to be happy upon waking so we best be ready to make him as comfortable as possible.”

“Wouldn’t sorbodoctylite be preferable sir? Given the extent of the nerve damage…”

“He doesn’t react well to betazoid painkillers Kenzie. Fetch Nurse Chapel would you too please?”

Betazoid painkillers? Why would he need painkillers? Why can’t he have betazoid- 

_Oh._ He’s allergic to them. didn’t know until-

Pritch-Howard.

Kidnap. Ice, cold, Jim, Phil. Bones. Jim. 

Pain! 

But wait! That was- that was before?

What is now?

 _Oh_. Nero.

Oh stars, Nero.

“Chris!” The voice, Leo’s voice calls, now tinged with urgency. “Chris you need to relax!”

Water and pain and that- that _thing!_

The slug- he put it in his mouth and made him scream and scream and scream! Shocked him and drowned him and took away his free will until he forced him to tell him the codes for the-!

“Codes!” he rasps. Or tries to. 

He’s trashing against the memories, his nerves alight with pain.

“Chris listen to me. You’re safe, your safe and you’re on the Enterprise.”

Leo is saying it calmly near his ear. Chris tries to listen, he does, but oh nova the pain is just _too much._

“Codes!” he chokes out again. “Earth codes! Change! Codes!”

He still cannot see.

“Jim and Spock already told Command to change the defence codes Chris,” Bones states soothingly- tries to be soothing. One of his hands come to rest gently on his shoulder, but Chris jerks away from the unexpected contact, screaming lowly through gritted teeth as his entire body suddenly burns from the inside all over again.

Leo’s statement itself does very little to soothe him through the agony either.

“McCoy, I brought your analgesics,” someone else suddenly says. Nurse Chapel, Chris presumes. 

“Thank god, he needs them now,” Leo sighs, his southern drawl suddenly thick with his obvious relief. “Chris, I’m going to have to put my hand on your neck again. I just need to move your medi-collar so I can inject this hypo okay?”

Chris forces himself to grunt an agreement, but he still whimpers loudly when cool fingers press lightly on his skin once again.

But then, _ohhh._

Then there is ice to cool the flames

And floating floating floating to replace the searing awareness of every ignited nerve in his body.

And…

“Bones…” he croaks into the endless darkness. “Bones…”

“I’m still here Chris.”

Softly still. By his ear. 

“Bones, where’s Phil!?”

* * *

He does not get his answer.

For the floating floating floating drifts him away and there is only music and the not-dark.

* * *

“Dad…”

Chris tries to roll towards the sound. 

Not even his head will tilt.

He breathes in and it comes out stuttered and harsh.

Everything is black still 

“No, no, no, its okay Dad, we’re in a zero g suspension chamber. Having anything touching you was making your pain readings hit the roof. And your eyes are covered because your retinas needed regening. Bones said something about acid and electric shocks, but I promise you will still be able to see when the bandages come off.”

“Jimmy?” he mumbles, uncaring of how weak he sounds.

“I’m right here, Dad. I promise.”

“Jimmy where’s Phil,” he rasps desperately.

There is a pause, and even in his completely addled state he can feel the unease and reluctance radiating from his boy.

“Jim please,” he begs.

“He- he was in the stairwell between deck five and six of the Medbay. And-”

And what!?

He’s seen deck five; bombed out, charred and broken. He was frantic and hurting and still so terrified when Leo carried him to a biobed in deck five. But- And what!?

“Jimmy,” he sobs, shudders racking down his body and causing him to spasm. 

“He’s alive, I promise,” Jim hastens to reassure him. “But the Nar- a hole was blown in the Enterprise that penetrated through to the upper Medbay and while the air shields and blast doors came down…”

“Stairwell,” Chris croaks.

“Phil got caught in the edge of the explosion. Got blown down the stairs and smashed into the lower deck blast door.”

“But he’s okay?”

His breathes are still coming faster than he knows they should be.

“He’s spending most of his time unconscious still and is gonna have some burn scars, but he’s okay,” Jim tries to soothe. Tries, because Chris can here the longing in the lad’s voice and recognises it for what it is; Jim wanting to hug him and knowing that he can’t. Which honestly, just makes Chris feel worse. But before he can say anything, his boy draws in a deep breath and continues. “One of the nurses set his arm, but they had to do it the old-fashioned way because so much of equipment got damaged or destroyed. Engineers are fixing it as best they can, but most of their time and resources are going into keeping the lower level radiation leaks under control. Well anyway, I’ve gone off topic; Phil’s got a lot of chemidermis skin grafts right now, his other arm is in a plaster cast, and he’s errr… kinda missing an eye.”

Jim’s rambling trails off into more silence with those last words.

Chris doesn’t know what to say either.

“Phil’s okay,” he tries to say eventually. Comes out more of a mangled slur than anything resembling normal human speech, but Jim must understand him anyway, because he repeats the words immediately.

“Phil’s okay.”

Chris allows himself a long raggard sigh of relief and lets the encroaching oblivion of unconsciousness wash over him once more.

* * *

**21\. Never leave your kid with another Captain**

The slow return to lucidity… is not all that welcome to be honest.

The more alert he is, the more he’s aware of the pain. And well, the pain is _bad._

And to add insult to injury, the poor Enterprise is in a state of utter shambles and Jim has been put through the wringer.

“…so then Spock backed me up and Marcus ordered security to detain both of us.” Jim rambles to him. He still can’t see, but he can imagine the young man’s gesticulating anyway. “But Spock nerve pinched the first one who stepped close enough, so they just stunned us with their phasers. Next thing I know, I wake up alone in an escape pod down the bottom of an ice crater. Computer said I was now stuck on some Class-M planet called Delta Vega.”

Chris stills in shocked silence.

“So after I forced the pod door open and found the survival pack, I set about climbing out of the hole,” Jim continues, apparently entirely unaware of Chris’ numb horror. “Thankfully, Spock’s pod went down into the ice right near mine, so it didn’t take me long to find him and pull him up to the surface too. Then when we got Spock’s tricorder working, we worked out where this Starfleet outpost was supposed to be, and-”

“She marooned you!” Chris suddenly spits angrily. “She marooned you on a known to be unsafe planet in the middle of a crisis!”

“Yeaaaah,” Jim draws out slowly. “Spock started listing of the codes of broken regulations as soon I peered over the edge of his pod hole down at him. Security protocol forty-nine point zero nine is the only one I can remember, but there were a lot.”

“I’m gonna kill her,” he seethes. “That damn planet is an ice ball of death and violent predators.”

“Mmmm Spock and I nearly got eaten,” Jim muses almost absently. “There was this big gorilla thing with pointy teeth to start with, but then a bigger lizard thing ate it. And then that chased us instead. Spock gave it a name, but I was too busy screeching at its weird-ass tongue to listen all that closely.”

“Oh nova Jimmy, please stop talking before I have a heart attack.”

“It worked out fine though, because just as the lizard-thing got its tongue wrapped around my ankle, Old-Spock came out of no-where and saved our asses.”

“…I have so many questions,” Chris manages to say eventually.

* * *

Leo has to touch him in order to take the bandaging off his eyes.

And it so very far from pleasant.

He grits his teeth through out the process, the nerve numbing hypo barely having helped. By the time the last pad has been removed from over his left eyelid, he’s sweating and panting and can taste blood from where he’s accidently bitten the inside of his cheek. 

“Alright, I’ve dimmed the chamber lights down to 5%, try opening your eyes slowly Chris.”

He does, but everything is a watery, blurry mess.

And the light stings.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” the doctor asks quietly.

“I can barely see your hand at all Bones,” Chris croaks back, letting his eyelids slide shut again. A full body-shiver grips him, and he moans as intense pain sweeps down his spine and limbs and-

And-

His legs are numb.

There’s no pain in his legs.

“Bones,” he gasps. “Bones, I can’t feel my legs!”

Oh god oh god oh god, what did Nero _do to him!?_

“Bones, I want Phil,” he sobs, the panic removing the last traces of dignity he had been clinging to. “Bones, I want my Phil.”

* * *

**22\. Be prepared for the worst-case scenario to get even worse.**

“Leo’s gonna fix it, okay baby?”

Chris tries to nod, but once again finds he can’t. He thought he would be used to that now.

But he’s not.

Phil is hovering right by his side, floating comfortably in the zero g environment. Bones tries to make sure there’s someone with him at all times, but with personnel stretched so thin across the ship, sometimes Chris wakes to nothing but the endless low hum of the stabilisers holding him still in the chamber. Thankfully, Phil is now alert and stable enough that he can spend prolonged stretches of time in here with him.

His vision is still not great, but its good enough that he has to swallow back a lump of unease every time he sees the biopatch covering what used to be his partner’s eye. 

“I just wonna be home now,” Chris slurs, words blurring together thanks to the cocktail of drugs permanently in his system.

“Jim’s talking to Archer again pumpkin; they’re organising some shuttles to come out with some equipment to bolster the impulse engines so that we can crawl our way back to Earth slightly faster.”

Chris has a feeling he’s been told this several times before, but the need to ask, to understand is stronger.

“Why’s Jim in charge? Thought Marcus was in charge ‘n then Spock was XO ‘n then Jim was after Spock? S’the chain of comman’ baby?”

Phil watches him silently for a long second, and then mutters something about the unfairness of no hugs. Chris frowns and hopes he’s not worrying everyone too much.

“Spock and Jim beamed back onto the ship with this Scottish Starfleet engineer honey-bee, and then Spock demanded Marcus step down due to protocol breaches. Marcus fought against it, but Spock pulled up a load of regs on the main viewscreen and she was forced to concede or be confined to the Brigg. Then Spock immediately named Jim his XO and logged it with the ship’s computer.”

“So Marcus went bye bye?” Chris asks, confused and feeling more sluggish by the second.

“So Marcus left the bridge, yes jello-bear. And as soon as Jim was officially logged as XO, Spock declared himself emotionally compromised and stepped down too. So now Jim is Acting Captain.”

“Wait,” Chris says slowly, fighting to stay awake. “Why am I not still Captain? I am a Captain still aren’t I?”

“You’re an Admiral now baby, and all you need to do is get better. Okay blossom?”

Oh. When was he made an Admiral? And why is he so tired? Maybe he should sleep, but that doesn’t feel like a good idea. Is Jim okay? What about-?

He sleeps.

* * *

_The straps are tight about his wrists and the constant drip drip drip never ends._

_He twitches, and the agony burns into his soul._

_Nero laughs._

_And Chris screams,_

He screams and he cries and he screams.

He remembers now, why he shouldn’t fall asleep.

* * *

“So why are you acting Captain?” 

Jim looks at him sympathetically and smiles weakly.

“Spock made Marcus stand down and then Spock stood himself down.”

“Oh,” Chris says simply. “And how many times have I asked you this now?”

“Less than a dozen times, it’s okay Dad.”

“Oh,” says Chris again, and swallows back the fear that threatens to overwhelm him when he hears Jim’s words.

* * *

**23\. Always trust your doctor.**

Chris is becoming more and aware that his grasp on the passage of time is decidedly… off.

“Why?” he tries asking Bones. He suspects he’s asked before but-

“The neurotoxin that the slug produced created a mixture of euphoria and anguish,” the doctor explains patiently as he scans along Chris’ spine. He taps Chris’ knee as he does so, and Chris shakes his head when he can’t feel the touch. “I’m no neurology expert, but the theory we’re running with is that it overloaded your entire nervous system until your mind went into shutdown due to the pain. At that point, your body becomes unable to tell the difference between pleasure and pain, and your consciousness sort of... floats away I guess.”

“Like BDSM subspace?” Chris asks curiously, shaking his head again as he watches Leo tap on the top of his foot three times.

“Like a really bad, dangerous, and extreme version of subspace, yeah I guess,” Bones agrees. “Though If I ever found out a Dom had driven someone to this level, I doubt I’d let them live long enough to see prison. But anyway, once you hit that that level of forced unawareness and thus your self-interest and self-preservation was neutralised, the toxin also hyper-activated your dorsolateral prefrontal cortex.”

“Works as a truth serum and makes you incapable of lying, and disrupts short term memory so you forget you answered their questions,” Chris summarises anxiously. “Bones… I think I told Nero some defence codes.”

“Don’t worry, we already fixed that,” Bones smirks reassuringly with a friendly (but sensationless) pat to his thigh. “One of the first things Jim did once we escaped the new black hole was to get Jon Archer to change all the Federation codes. Don’t tell him I admitted this, but our boy’s not doing too badly at this Acting Captain malarkey.”

Chris frowns.

“Wait, is Jim the Captain now? What happened to Spock? And that other Captain person? Isn’t there another Marcus now?”

* * *

“No, go fish,” Phil grins. Half grins. The left side of his face is still to stiff and scarred for him to properly move his mouth.

Jim sighs and picks up another card.

“Sorry Dad,” he mutters, looks like we’re losing again.”

“I honestly, can’t keep track of the cards anyway son,” he snorts back. “Also, why do we only ever play this when one or more of us is laid up in Medical?”

“Because you’re an outrageous card cheat,” Phil smirks. “So you need the bed bound sympathy on your side to protect you from our payback.”

If Chris move his hands more than a couple of inches, he’d throw his and Jim’s cards at Phil right now. Missing an eye or not.

* * *

_Drip drip drip._

_“Christopher Pike, Admiral, USS Enterprise. Two zero four four one nine three.”_

_Drip drip drip_

_“Enterprise, Enterprise, Enterprise!”_

_He screams_

He screams, and he wakes panting and sobbing once again.

At least this time, Phil is here to whisper in his ear as the real world comes back into focus.

* * *

“How long until we get back to space dock?”

“Approximately five point seven eight standard Federation days remain until we arrive at Earth sir.”

“Oh. Why are we not a warp Spock?”

“Acting Captain Kirk made the logical decision to eject our warp core in order to facilitate our escape from a newly created black hole. This occurred twelve point six standard days previous to our current conversation. As there are no starships of suitable size currently available to assist us, we are consequently travelling on impulse only.”

“Oh. Erm. Spock? Why is Jim Acting Captain and not you?”

* * *

_Two zero four- Two zero four- Two zero four-_

_Nero grins gleefully._

_“Tell me Christopher. That’s it, tell me!”_

“NO PLEASE!” he screams, thrashing against the support field.

He begs even as Phil gently strokes his hair and shushes him quietly.

* * *

Jim still hasn’t told him what **Point 16** is. It's still a hole in Chris’ latest list.

Or maybe Jim has told him, and he’s forgotten it since.

Chris is at least 70% sure he’s forgetting a lot of things at the minute. It’s very frustrating. Or at least it is when he can remember that he’s forgetting things.

What’s the next point anyway? Did he make **22** and **23** yet?

Actually, the fact that he’s wondering about **22** and **23** rather than some other numbers probably means he did make them.

Guess he’ll jump straight to 24 then. 

**24\. Rely on your friends and crew as much as yourself.**

Or, given his own near-complete immobilisation right now, rely on your friends and crew even more than yourself.

God, he hates feeling so useless.

At least he can move a bit now. Or maybe he can move less than before? Could he move his head side to side and scratch his own nose before? 

Did it hurt so much to scratch his own nose before? With a pain so sharp and deep and spreading he’d honestly rather just let his nose itch?

And will some one please tell him if Phil is okay or not?

God, he hates feeling so useless.

* * *

“We’re approaching Space Dock finally sir. Which is why you’re on your own right now.”

“Oh okay?” Chris mumbles back to the nurse on the other side of the chamber’s viewscreen. “That was quick.”

“We’ve actually been travelling for two and a half weeks now Admi- Chris. Another Nurse will be along shortly, and then we’ll get you out of the zero-g chamber as comfortably as possible. I’m Nurse Chapel by the way.”

“Two and a half weeks? Really? I can only remember the last day or so. Oh, I can’t feel my legs by the way, but I’m gonna assume you already know that.”

“We do know that yes Chris. Doctor McCoy wants me to tell you that you're on priority beam down and that Doctor Boyce will be accompanying you. There’s a room ready and waiting for you in Medical.”

“Is my son coming down with us too? I think a Romulan tried to hurt him. Wait, is Jim okay!? I think I shot the Romulans, but what if-!”

“Chris, Kirk is fine,” the nurse interrupts. “He’s on the bridge with Spock overseeing the Docking procedure.”

“Oh. He’s a Commander now did you know? He’s not even graduated yet and he’s already filling in as Second Officer! I’m so proud of him. Have you ever met him?”

“Yes I’ve met your son Chris,” she chuckles. “He comes down to Medbay to visit you several times a day.”

“He’s cuter than me,” Chris slurs happily, voice and words still thick with drugs and painkillers. “But I still got Phil so I win.”

“Yes Chris, I think you did. And I think you and your boys won a whole lot more than you’ve yet realised.”

Chris smiles at her gaily and think it might be a good idea to ask when they’re due to arrive back at Earth. It’s got to be soon after all!

Gosh, he can’t wait for them to finally reach Space Dock so they can all go home!


	5. Chapter 5

Chris blinks.

He has no idea how long he’s been here.

Someone has shaved his hair off. It’s only a few millimetres long now.

He’s pretty sure he’s in Starfleet Medical in San Francisco; there’s an entire wall of windows on one side overlooking the bay, and the rest of the room has been painted a brilliant white and has screens and holo-projectors attached at various heights.

He’s not in a bio bed. Instead he’s sort of… floating. As if gravity has stopped working. 

He’s alone, but there’s a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and pillow left on it, untidy and rucked up. 

He presumes someone has been sleeping on it recently.

How did he get here?

 _Why_ is he here?

And where is Phil?

* * *

He blinks and Jim is there.

The shade of light streaming through the windows has changed.

(Where did the time go?)

His son looks tired. Bags under his eyes, hair a scruffy mess, and the vaguest hints of a 5 o’clock shadow forming across his jaw and cheeks.

He’s wearing a random mix of cadet red and officer grey.

“Hey dad,” Jim says quietly, stopping beside where he’s floating peacefully. 

(Why is he floating?)

“Are you okay son? You don’t look good, are you getting enough sleep? Why is your uniform like that?”

Jim smiles weakly and reaches out to grip his hand. Stars, he really does look exhausted. 

“I’m fine dad; just got a lot to do with the Enterprise relaunch prep and trying to organise the crew and finish my extra load of classes all at once. And the uniform is the same for all the cadets who made it back after the Narada incident. Though we’ve now been told that we have to put our old reds on for any ceremonies.”

Chris frowns. 

“What’s the Narada Incident? And what do you mean the Enterprise is due a relaunch? She hasn’t had her maiden voyage yet. She won’t even be ready to leave the Riverside Shipyards for space dock for another 3 months surely?”

Jim already weak smile becomes even more brittle, and Chris holds back a wince when he sees the pain trying to hide in Jim’s eyes intensify.

Chris swallows hard and forces some more words out.

“I’m sick aren’t I?” he asks Jim nervously. “Really sick. That’s why I’m in medical and my hair is gone.”

“It’s okay Dad, Phil and Bones and everyone else here is gonna make you better. You’re going to get better.”

“But- I’m forgetting things aren’t I?”

“Sometimes yes,” Jim says softly. “But it won’t be permanent. Your long-term memories will come back I promise.”

“I must have hit my head right? Or… But it’s some form of brain damage? ‘Cause they’ve shaved all my hair off. Please tell me it was just a bad concussion and not something more serious Jimmy.”

Chris can only describe the look that passes over Jim’s face as torn. Which tells him better than any words could that it really is bad. _Very_ bad. 

“Oh nova, it’s a brain tumour isn’t it?” he chokes out, unshed tears building along his lashes. 

“No no no,” Jim hastens to reassure. “There was… you were given a toxin and it effected certain regions of your brain. Bones said a lot of big words like hippocrampussed or something. Normally I’d listen, but… gods I’m just so tired constantly at the minute Dad.”

And Jim’s problems are enough for him to shove his own panic aside for a moment. To push them into a box in the back of his head and concentrate on his boy instead. 

“Then sleep now Jim. There’s pillows over there and everything,” he says with a vague handwave towards a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and pillow left on it, untidy and rucked up. 

“I shouldn’t…” Jim trails off with a glance over his shoulder. “There’s so many things I should be doing. Archer and Nogura are doing their damndest to prep me for Captaincy in record time… but there’s just _so much to learn._ And then Scotty wants me to approve all these damn upgrades but Archer is still mad at him over Aramis vanishing last year so I’m constantly having to play mediator between them. Bones is getting grilled just as much as I am as he’s been pipped to keep the CMO position permanently because Phil resigned on the spot as soon as it became clear you were going to be long term grounded-”

“Grounded? Me!?” Chris stammers out. “I- But I-”

“-I know, I know.” Jim interrupts back. “Trust me no-one is happy about it, least of all you. But my point was I’m barely seeing Bones. Or Phil because he’s either here with you or being poked and prodded by doctor’s himself.”

“What happened to Phil?” he asks through a yawn. Nova, why does he feel so tired all of a sudden?

“He’s just having some issues with his new eye. And I see I’m not the only one who’s exhausted!”

The end of Jim’s sentence is lost in a yawn of his own, but Chris just about translates the garble anyway. 

“Oh stars, maybe I will try for a power nap after all. Phil won’t mind if I steal his duvet right? Damn, I can’t believe I just called it a duvet. I really must be…

* * *

He blinks and Phil is there.

Phil has a biopatch over one eye.

(Why…?)

“Hey sleepy head. How’s your back feeling honey?”

Chris blinks some more and realises he can’t feel anything below his waist.

“Phil,” he whispers with a crackle, “I can’t feel my legs!”

“It’s okay baby, we’ll be able to fix that soon. Everyone in Medical is working on it, I promise.”

Chris forces the rising panic down with some effort, making himself concentrate on the pleasant sensation of Phil stroking his hair above his ear instead. It feels… shorter? Than it should. Under Phil’s hand.

“…Did they shave my sideburns off too?” he asks after a few more seconds, suddenly realising Medical must have shaved his head. 

Phil snorts.

“Yes honey, they did.”

“But I like my sideburns!”

“They’ll grow back.”

“Better do,” he grumbles, turning his head to look past Phil. It feels odd, moving. Because of the zero-gravity field he’s floating in he supposes. “Is that Jim?” he asks as he notices a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and a pillow on it, with Jim’s head just peaking out from under them.

“Yes, he’s been there for a couple of hours at least now. And he’ll be there for at least a couple more if I have any say in the matter,” Phil smiles. “Poor lad. The Admiralty has been running him absolutely ragged. And if it’s not the Admiralty, it’s that Scottish guy and the bouncy navigations kid asking him so many questions I’m surprised he hasn’t smacked them one yet.”

“Do I know these people Phil?”

“I think you’ve met Cheekoff? Checkoff? Something like that. He was on the bridge of the Enterprise at the same time you were when we were headed to Vulcan.”

“The Enterprise? But she’s not even left the shipyard yet surely?”

“Oh sweetpot,” Phil sighs, bending down to press his lips against Chris’ brow. “I know it’s frustrating, but I promise we’ll get these memory issue sorted soon okay? You have your last spine surgery tomorrow and then we can fix it okay?”

Chris hooks his arm around his best friend and wishes he had the balls to tell Phil he might possibly be in love with him.

* * *

He blinks and…

It’s dark and someone is snoring faintly.

Its coming from a couch, next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets on it with what might be a head poking out from under them. He can’t tell the hair colour, but something tells him it’s probably Phil.

Why is he sleeping on a couch instead of in his apartment?

he blinks again and-

* * *

He blinks and-

He blinks and Jim is there.

The shade of light streaming through the windows has changed.

(where did the time go?)

His son looks tired. Bags under his eyes, hair a scruffy mess, and the vaguest hints of a 5 o’clock shadow forming across his jaw and cheeks.

He’s wearing a random mix of cadet red and officer grey.

“Last major surgery today dad!” Jim greets him cheerfully, in contrast to his bedraggled appearance. “You’re gonna be right as rain before you know it!”

He tries to sit up, wanting to reach out and hug his boy (gods, the boy looks absolutely knackered) but finds he can’t. He feels like gravity won’t let him, and his legs won’t move at all.

 _Nova!_ He can’t feel his legs! Not one bit!

“Jimmy-!” he gasps, trying to reach down and squeeze his knee, “Something’s wrong, I can’t feel my-!”

“Hey hey, sit back and relax,” Jim soothes, gently pushing back on his shoulders but not leaning over him. “the Doctors know about it and they’re gonna fix it this afternoon.”

Chris only just hears the words over the roaring in his ears, but he tries to force in some gulping breathes anyway. 

“That’s it dad, breathe.” 

“Trying,” he half coughs, half laughs. Mostly he just sounds pained.

“Try harder,” Jim grins playfully, moving to rub his arm just below the sleeve of his white medical gown. 

“Would be easier,” he coughs some more, “if I had functioning lungs.”

“Your lungs fine old man,” Jim snorts, “They were pretty much the first thing Bones was able to fix when we got you back. Those and your heart.”

Taking in a few more shuddering breathes, he looks at Jim sideways from his almost laid down position. 

“What did happen kid? I don’t remember at all,” he asks in as calm a tone he can manage. 

Jim pulls his lips into a twisted smirk that’s more like a grimace, and runs a hand back through his hair, leaving it somehow even _more_ dishevelled.

“There was an emergency call out to Vulcan. The main Fleet was already out dealing with an issue in the Laurentian System, so the home Fleet responded instead. We went out on the Enterprise.”

Jim pauses with a considering look, his eyes scanning over Chris’ face. What he’s looking for, Chris couldn’t tell you, but it sends a spike of anxiety down Chris’ spine. 

“When we arrived at Vulcan,” Jim continues hesitantly, “it was into a debris field of destroyed Starfleet ships. The massive Romulan ship that destroyed the Kelvin all those years ago was there waiting for us. The Romulan ship’s Captain took you hostage, and then created a blackhole in Vulcan’s core.”

Chris stares back in silence. 

And then.

“…Nero,” he whispers to himself brokenly. “Oh god Jim, he- he-!”

* * *

He blinks and his legs are tingling.

He’s pretty sure he’s in Starfleet Medical in San Francisco; there’s an entire wall of windows on one side overlooking the bay, and the rest of the room has been painted a brilliant white and has screens and holo-projectors attached at various heights.

He’s not in a bio bed. Instead he’s sort of… floating. As if gravity has stopped working. 

He’s alone, but there’s a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and pillow left on it, untidy and rucked up. 

He presumes someone has been sleeping on it recently.

How did he get here?

 _Why_ is he here?

He’s surprised Phil isn’t hovering over him like the incessant worry wart that he is.

He’s probably with that girl he’s been seeing recently. 

Or did they break up? Who knows; Phil never has been the type to date someone for long stretches of time. Almost as if his heart is never truly in it. 

Oh well, none of Chris’ concern really, beyond being a shoulder to get drunk on after the worst breakups as per best friend standard operating procedure. 

But he still wonders where–

* * *

Blink.

A Starfleet commander stood in front of the door.

A Vulcan?

“Admiral,” the officer greets him.

“It’s just Captain,” Chris corrects with a rasp and an attempt at a smile. “Though I wouldn’t mind a set of pips one day!”

The Vulcan nods solemnly, his expression unchanging.

“My apologies…Captain.”

Chris doesn’t know what else to say to the stoic man, so he glances around the rest of the room instead. There’s a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and a single pillow left on it, untidy and rucked up.

There’s a helium balloon floating above it, the weight resting on the loan pillow, the ribbon a pale green.

“I was asked to inform you that Captain Thirrwood has plans to visit you at approximately 1630 this evening,” The Vulcan suddenly adds into the silence. 

“ _Captain_ Thirrwood?” he asks surprised. “Did she get promoted while I was uncons-”

* * *

He blinks and there’s a young man in the room with him.

Just a kid really.

His blonde hair is a tussled mess, there are bags under his eyes, and there’s a small, short cut down his left cheek. From how exhausted the lad looks, Chris suspects the lad tried to shave the old-fashioned way with a razor and shaky hands. 

He’s wearing a random mix of Cadet red and Officer grey.

But there’s also Captain stripes on his shoulder’s? What the hell does that mean? Is he a Captain or a Cadet? There’s no way he can be both…? Can he?

“Dad! Thank god you’re awake! You’ve been out for hours. Even Phil was starting to get worried, not that he would admit it. Do you want a drink? You’re probably thirsty as all hell.”

Chris opens his mouth.

And closes it again.

Did this kid just call him _Dad?_

“I’m sorry if I’m about to really upset you son,” he rasps eventually, “but I have no idea who you are.”

And oh, he might not know the poor boy, but he knows heartbreak when he sees it. The shattered soul trapped in the too blue eyes. 

“Oh Chris,” the kid sighs despondently, dropping to one knee beside him. “I’m James T. Kirk and you accidently adopted me when I was 22.”

“Accidently?” he asks, too many other questions swirling round his head. Not least how the damn Kelvin baby of all people came to be staring at him with such adoration. 

Kirk- James (he supposes he should call the lad James if they know each other that well) huffs in amusement, and his eyes drop to the floor. 

“I got into a bar fight with a bunch of Cadets. You broke it up, said a bunch of shit about my dad that you’ve been apologising for ever since even though I forgave you almost instantly, and then dared me to do better. Next thing I know, I’m willingly climbing into a shuttle with you and signing on to Starfleet. You’ve been stuck with me ever since.”

“Oh… So are you a crewmember on the Odyssey with me, or have you not graduated yet? Or did you go to the Hawking with Number One when she got her own command?”

“It’s… complicated,” James answers cautiously. “I was acting second officer under you on the Enterprise and then circumstance got me some very rapid field promotions.”

“The Enterprise? But there hasn’t been an Enterprise in the ‘Fleet since Archer’s tiny little NX skimmer! Stars, How much time has-!”

* * *

He blinks.

His newly promoted CMO and old friend is leaning over him. Only- Phil looks _old._ Hair gone grey, more laugh lines than he remembers. 

“Phil? What happened?” he slurs, tongue too dry in his mouth.

He scans around the room while his best friend is looking up at him in shock. 

He’s pretty sure he’s in Starfleet Medical in San Francisco; there’s an entire wall of windows on one side overlooking the bay, and the rest of the room has been painted a brilliant white and has screens and holo-projectors attached at various heights.

He’s not in a bio bed. Instead he’s sort of… floating. As if gravity has stopped working. 

He’s alone except for Phil, but there’s also a low couch next to the closed door. One of those simplistic, armless ones made of several chairs pushed together. Like you see in foyers in businesses all around the world. There’s a pile of blankets and pillow left on it, untidy and rucked up. One of the blankets has slid to the floor in a heap. 

“It’s okay baby,” Phil mutters softly, running a hand softly down his cheek.

And yeah, he likes it, but when Phil has ever done that before? Caressed his face so gently? Called him-

* * *

He blinks and Phil slowly puts a cool metal box on his forehead. 

“Okay this is gonna sting a bit honey,” the doctor says reassuringly.

“Sure,” Chris answers, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t even know what’s going on if he’s honest. In fact when did Phil even get here? And why has his hair gone grey all of a sudden? And he’s got a lot more laugh lines than he remembers.

But he doesn’t know, so he blinks-

* * *

And memories come crashing back so thick and fast he screams with the agony of it.

* * *

Nero Nero Nero Nero NERO NERO NERO _NERO NERO NERO NERO!_

Oh god, _why?_

* * *

When he blinks this time, everything hurts.

But his legs hurt too.

He has _feeling_ in his legs

And enough memories to really appreciate that.

**Point 25. Your voyages may only be short, but the memories will last a lifetime.**

(Interference by evil bastard Romulans notwithstanding)

(Stars, he’s so glad he remembers his points)

(And everything else)

(Even the bad stuff)

“I need to talk to Jim,” Chris grumbles to his other half, the soft evening light harsh to his eyes given how awful a headache he has right now. “I forgot him. I need to see my boy Phil, I need to tell him how much he means to me.”

“I Comm’d him sugarplum; he’s in one of those insane accelerated Academy classes right now, but he promised to come talk to you as soon as he escapes.”

“Phil?”

“Yes darling?”

“I love you Phil.”

“love you too jujube.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddy is sorry for taking so long to update :/

The beyond-numbness, the complete lack of sensation had been terrifying. The emptiness where his brain knew his legs should’ve been, the total void, the absence of any feeling at all; it had shaken him more than he would admit even to himself.

But at least there had been no pain.

At first the sharp tingling had been reassuring after the nothingness of before. The constant prickling had meant that things were going to get better. He wasn’t going to be paraplegic for the rest of his life; walking once again wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

But as the days keep turning and the pain grows more and more intense, he begins to think _maybe the nothing was better after all._

**26\. Captains should always be careful what they wish for**

* * *

It’s the nausea that’s the worst part of it all.

Pain can be numbed with drugs; painkillers so strong that the entire box is just one giant warning label. And Phil has been giving him more than enough to make him feel like he’s floating.

But no amount of medication does more than take the slightest edge off the nausea.

It’s like his body is stuck at sea; constant rises and swells that have him breathing deep and shuddering as he exhales. Whenever he thinks the sensation might finally be waning, he hits the next wave and the nausea rises up once again.

Sweat constantly coats his skin even as he feels like he’s freezing. He’ll breathe through another surge as Phil sits beside him, one finger stroking over a rough patch of stubble on his cheek as quiet words of reassurance fall softly from his lips.

And then after, in the few blessed minutes when he can relax into the haze of drug-induced blissed he’s being kept in, when the basin has moved away from under his chin and back to the table beside the biobed. After, when his brow has been once more been mopped, and his head and shoulders have once more been lowered to rest back on the mound of pillows.

Then is when he spares a moment to be thankful.

Because at least he _remembers_ why he’s in such a mess.

* * *

“Hey Dad,” Jim will sigh as he sits- _collapses_ into the chair next to the head of the biobed.

He always looks exhausted. Skin pale, face becoming slimmer by the day. Bags under his eyes so deep Phil has started muttering the words ‘damn raccoon’ whenever he spots the young man.

Chris never mentions it because he knows he looks far worse.

“Hey kid,” he’ll mumble back.

Any louder than a mumble and he’ll end up trying not to throw up in his own lap again. He’s learnt that the hard way.

“You need to shave old man.”

“Hmmm,” Chris will agree quietly, just like he does every time Jim’s here.

And then Jim will grasp his hand gently, careful not to knock the old-fashioned IV line keeping Chris hydrated, and tell him all about the maniac day he’s had and how many shouting matches he’s had to have with his superiors this time.

Chris can never focus on the actual words, head too stuffed full of cotton wool, but he can hear his boy’s voice, and hear Phil padding around muttering at the biobed output displays.

And it’s all he needs to forget for a few precious moments that things will never be the same again.

* * *

The first time had been the worst.

The first time seeing Jim since he’d forgotten him entirely.

Stars, Chris had felt awful when Jim had come creeping into his room in Medical with as unsure a look as Chris had ever seen him with. Clearly wandering if Chris remembered him now. Clearly worried that he never would remember him ever again.

“Hey,” he’d stuttered quietly, glancing round the room and noting Phil’s absence.

“Jim. Son.” Chris had croaked. “I’m sorry, I love you.”

“Oh thank god, I love you too Dad.”

And that’s all it had taken.

It had been okay from there.

* * *

Or well. Not okay, but at least _better._

**27\. Strive for perfection but don’t worry if you don’t reach it.**

* * *

“Easy Chris, Easy, I’ve got you.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Chris chokes back, clutching at his spasming stomach.

He breathes through his nose, and moans as yet more bile burns the back of his throat.

Phil has one hand on his back this time, thumb rubbing a slow circle.

“You don’t have to be sorry beanpole, we knew this would happen when we started combining the myelin regeneration drugs with gamma-plasma therapy. I can’t give you any antiemetics until the _Nevomantraxapine_ clears your system.”

“ ‘m still sorry. You always stuck ‘ere with me all day.”

“I’m not stuck, I’m exactly where I both want and need to be.”

“But I’m always jus’ sick ‘n miserable. No fun.”

“And I love you all the same jungle-juice. And this will get better, I promise. The faster we get your nerves fixed, the faster we can move on to physical therapy and change your pain management okay? No more overwhelming nausea twenty-four seven, and no more hideously old fashioned needles stuck in you; I can go back to using sensible painkillers that can be injected via hypo.”

Chris tries to say _I love you too Phil_ but he’s too busy trying not to throw up his stomach lining again to get the words out.

* * *

“Why is it in his hand?” Jim asks suddenly.

The young man looks about thirty seconds away from falling asleep sitting up.

“Why is what where?” Phil replies distracted as he fiddles with a hypo loader. 

“The IV. I’m sure I’ve read in one of Bone’s old medical history books that you’re supposed to put IV lines in at the elbow.”

Phil glances up at Jim for a second with a frown, and Chris tries to catch his eye too and grin at him; he feels oddly good today. Less sick than usual and almost no pain. 

“Typically elbow IVs were used in emergency situations for a more rapid infusion of medication of drugs. We started off putting one there in Chrissy, but even on the best of days he won’t sit still for more than five minutes. So after he managed to knock it out for the fourth time, I moved it.”

Chris, increasingly aware that his two favourite people are talking about him and not to him, decides to cross his arms and pout dramatically.

“Behold! A prime example of why I moved it!” Phil snorts with a lopsided smile and a pointed glance in his direction. 

“Stop laughing at me and come give me cuddles,” he grumps back, not noticing the slight slur in his words at all.

“You can have hug if you let me give you this hypo with minimum fuss love,” Phil bargains.

“Noooo,” he whines back. “Hypos are _eee_ vil! They sneak up on you at night at steal your socks!”

“Wow. How much of the good stuff did you give him today?” Jim chuckles quietly. “He’s even more loopy than usual.”

“Eeeeevil!” Chris drawls again, this time letting a sloppy grin onto his face, determined to make Jim smile like that again.

“Maybe,” Phil huffs in amusement. “But a necessary evil and far better than the alternative.”

“You’re a necessary evil!” Chris proclaims proudly. “My evil because I love you Phil!”

“Yeah maybe I over did it with these new Andorian analgesics again,” Phil fake-grimaces as Chris starts poking his own nose and going cross-eyed. “In my defence, its hard to judge the concentration of that stuff as each batch is unique. Plus it has to be subdermal injected rather than hypoed or the human epidermis layer traps half the substance and causes severe and painful swelling.”

“Hence the IV line,” Jim concludes. 

“Hence the ID sign,” Chris adds with another loopy grin. “It’s tattooed on my foot and it says: Cappy Pike, father of Jimmy and evil sidekick of Philip Beans.”

“Beans?” Phil asks confused.

* * *

Chris still can’t quiet get used to Phil’s eye now.

He has the new mechna-bioptic implant back in, now that the optic specialists have worked out what material was causing Phil’s immune system to reject it. It’s better than the gaping hole covered by an all-too noticeable eyepatch, but its still looks… off to Chris. 

The colour of his new iris is close, but not quite the same as his natural eye was. The little silver fleck next to his pupil is gone, and there’s a slight blue tinge to the sclera thanks to the nanites connecting the retina plate to Phil’s own repaired optic nerve. 

And, as is always the issue with eye implants, it doesn’t move quite as naturally as it should. There’s a small delay easily noticeable to anyone watching, a smooth rolling motion that lags in momentum rather than the shorter, fast, almost-twitches that most people have.

Plus, it never seems to quite focus correctly, leaving Phil with a permanent slightly dazed look.

Phil himself says its great. His brain automatically corrects for any imperfections, just as every human’s brain does for eyesight. In fact, he declares it to actually be an improvement over his original eye, as he was just starting to go long-sighted and had been considering booking himself in for a Retnax session. 

**28\. Just because something looks worse doesn’t mean that it actually is.**

Phil laughs when Chris relays that point to him. 

“You’re going to cut and change between declaring that your life motto, and something to be entirely ignored, aren’t you? Depending on how much of a perfectionist you’re feeling at any given moment.”

“Hey! You know I know how to look beyond surface impressions!” Chris protests as loudly as he dares.

_(please don’t be sick agian, please don’t be sick again, please don’t be-)_

“Yes cocoa bean, but you’re not very good at doing so with anything that you personally have made and designed. If it’s not perfect, its not good enough. You demand too much of yourself far too often dear.”

Chris grumbles under his breath but knows better than to object too vocally. 

_(Oh god, please don’t be sick again, please don’t be sick again-)_

“Just keep **Point 27** in mind too dear,” Phil grins, running a warm comforting hand over the back of Chris’ finally grown back in hair.

* * *

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” Jim asks again nervously.

“One hundred percent son,” Chris replies calmly.

For once, the cocktail of drugs he’s on haven’t made him as high a kite. The sobriety is slightly unpleasant but very welcome. Because thinking clearly does mean he’s far more aware of the nausea and ever-present pain than he has been for the past few weeks. But thinking clearly also means that _he can think clearly_. He can make informed decisions and hold rational conversations.

And talk to Jim properly.

“But what if my hand slips? With my excessive- excessive even by my standards! -with my excessive course load and all the work I’m having to do, I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders. What if I cut you? Or slice a sideburn in half!?”

“Please don’t mutilate my sideburn kid,” Chris chuckles jokingly. “I just finished regrowing them after Bones and Phil murdered them!”

“You can’t murder sideburns,” Bones grumbles from by the door. “They’re not alive. And given the choice between your facial hair and your brain and spinal cord, I think you ought to be glad we didn’t choose your facial hair.”

“They are alive,” Chris fake-pouts, choosing to ignore the reminder of his near-death for his own mental health. “They’re hair and hair is a living substance. Plus, it’s on my face.”

“Please stop reminding me of that,” Jim whines, finally bringing the sonic shaver towards Chris’ cheek. 

“You got this kid,” Chris smiles slowly, careful to not move his face to much. “I trust you completely.”

After forgetting Jim completely, Chris is going to keep going out of his way to reassure Jim that he means everything to him. Especially as Jim is still fretting over “stealing” the Enterprise from him.

* * *

Nogura and Marcus had stood at the end of his biobed. In full Admiral dress uniform.

Chris had almost panicked for a second, fearing they were going to discharge him from service. Despite Nogura already having assured him multiple times that he would remain in Starfleet come rain or shine. 

Or worse; that they’d come to tell him one of his love ones had been in an accident _(gods please not Jim again. Please not Ji-)_

“Admiral Pike,” Marcus had opened with. 

Chris had swallowed back a wave of nausea in a hurry

(Goddamn nerve regeneration medicine)

(He was not puking his guts up in front of these two men. No way.)

(Not again.)

“We need to talk about the Enterprise Captaincy,” Nogura had continued with. 

And Chris had known this was coming. With more than a dozen ships and almost their entire crews reduced to scattered debris orbiting the empty place where a planet used to exist, Starfleet couldn’t afford to keep a new flagship sitting in space dock waiting on its broken Captain. 

So he knew they were going to make him handover his baby. 

He knew that the ship repairs were going to be done far before he was going to be able to physically handle the demands of Captaining a ship. He knew Enterprise would have to leave Earth far sooner than he was going to be walking again. He knew this, and he’d been mentally prepared for the pain of loosing her to another.

Doesn’t mean it actually hurt less when he was officially informed he had to step down though. 

“….all of his extra classes Archer has been personally overseeing, I feel he should be able handle it with utmost admirability. Pike? Pike did you get any of that?” 

Chris had startled when he realised Nogura was still talking and that he’d zoned out and heard almost nothing. Thankfully, Nogura seemed to have realised, and had just smiled and shook his head before repeating himself.

Thankful for the lack of comment on his absent mind, he’d paid more attention the second time round and listened carefully while trying to will away his burning red cheeks and other visible signs on his embarrassment.

“I said we’re officialising your boy's promotion to Captain and giving him the Enterprise if you have no objections. With mine and Marcus’ personal mentorship, and all the extra classes Archer has been running for his benefit, we believe Kirk will handle the responsibility exceptionally.”

Chris had stared at them in shocked silence.

“You’re- you’re giving my ship to my son?” he had stammered eventually.

“If you agreeable to that, yes.” Marcus had confirmed. “We’ve been running him through intensive exercises which should prepare him to handle the day to day running of a constellation class despite his relative inexperience, and his real-world performance to date has shown us he is more than capable of handling even the most extreme of emergency situations. His academic record is outstanding, his demerit register almost blank. His temperament is perfect, his disposition towards more junior officers than himself exemplary, and he has more than enough personal connections to the Admiralty to support him through the cutthroat political arena. He has at least a good working knowledge of all of the divisions that will be under his command, and an intensive specialised knowledge of several of them, including engineering and computer science, which will allow for effective communication with his officers and pave the way to further earning their respect. And he's a brilliant critical thinker and tactician who respects everyone around him, and their thoughts and ideas.”

“All in all,” Nogura had concluded, “the only real draw backs are that many current officers will scoff at how green he technically is, and thus be unhappy with the seemingly blatant favouritism. But Kirk earned this by saving Earth and probably the whole Federation, so we will stand by this decision despite objections. And well, he already proved he can actually Captain the Enterprise as he did exactly that on the return back to Earth following the confrontation which saved our planet.”

“You’re… giving my Jimmy the Enterprise?” Chris had stammered again. 

“You just say the word Admiral, and it’s his.”

* * *

“Oh my god Phil,” Chris had gabbled in proud disbelief later on that day. “Oh my god, they’re giving our kid the flagship and he hasn’t even graduated yet! I knew they were making him a Captain because he's been wearing Captain stripes for weeks. But they're giving him the flagship!”

“Yes they are ice-pop,” Phil had grinned back, leaning down to drop a kiss on Chris’ brow. 

“ **Point 29,** Phil. **No matter your beginnings, everyone is capable of great things** ”

“Sounds like Jimbo in a nutshell,” Phil had laughed as he runs his fingers through Chris’ increasingly overgrown hair.

* * *

**30\. Adapt isn’t always followed by overcome. Sometimes the saying is adapt and accept.**

Chris is repeating this silently to himself as he sits on the edge of the biobed and stares mulishly at the hoverchair parked next to him. 

“Thirty,” he says out loud, legs shaking as he shuffles forward to rest his feet on the floor. “Adapt and accept.”

“Right here with you love,” Phil says quietly from beside him.

“I can do this,” Chris breathes shakily. “I _am_ going to the damn handover ceremony even I throw up six times on the way.”

“One might even say we’re prepared to give an eye and a leg to be there,” Phil jokes morbidly, tapping his finger on his right cheekbone. 

Chris swats him gently round the ear with an unsteady hand, and then takes a deep breath and tips himself off the bed towards the waiting chair. Phil catches him smoothly and helps him twist round to sit, even as his legs shudder with agony and searing pain shoots up his spine. 

Tears sting at the corner of his eyes and he’s grinding his teeth together hard enough to chip a crown, but he does end up sat securely and ready to leave his room in Medical for the first time in almost three months.

* * *

He does throw up on the way to the Cadet’s main auditorium, but only twice, so Chris counts it as a win.

* * *

There’s too few cadets. 

The entire current cohort was invited to this ceremony, as well as all any ship-based personnel currently on Earth. And yet-

And yet the hall is still not quite full. 

“This assembly calls Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Your inspirational valour and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service, and to reflect utmost credit to yourself, your crew, and the Federation, it is my honour to award you with this commendation. By Starfleet Order two-eight four five five, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Pike, USS Enterprise, for duty as his relief.”

When Jim turns smartly to face Chris, he doesn’t have to force the smile onto his face despite the chronic nausea building in his stomach and chest.

Because his smile is 100% pure pride and happiness. 

“I relieve you sir,” Jim grins, practically vibrating on the spot.

“I am relieved,” he replies as he’s supposed to.

“Thanks… dad,” Jim finishes, slipping off script.

“Congratulations Captain. Your biological father would be proud and I am definitely am.”

And then, throwing all decorum and protocol out of the window, Jim leans down and hugs him while thunderous cheers and clapping echo around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey if you're feeling generous, could people skip over to my [Tumblr](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/) and check out the links in my profile box? There's a masterlist of all my Trek fic there too.
> 
> Ps. I am aware that due to its appearance in a "flashback", point 29 would actually be earlier in the list. I'll do some rearranging tomorrow to fix the chronology error lol


	7. APPENDIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, message me with anything you want adding!
> 
>  
> 
> **Looking for an update? You need to go back one chapter!**

**Click the links below to jump to the relevant section**

Chris' list of points (Part III Edition)  
\- 1-  


\- Starfleet Ranks  


**Chris and Jim’s “Captain’s Checklistt”**

Clicking the Underlined number at the start of the point will take you to the place in the relevant chapter where the point was originally made.

(when I go back and add the anchors anyway lol)

**Chapter 1 ******

[1.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#1) Ensure you know how to bullshit.

[2.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#2) Ensure you know how to detect bullshit as well as spew it.”

[3.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#3) You must have a plan for all eventualities.

[4.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#4) Don’t ever let your superiors convince you everything will be fine.

[5.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#5) Make as many connections and contacts as you can.

[6.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#6) Always check your Jefferies tubes for unexpected visitors

[7.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#7) Ignore your CMO even if he claims it’s life or death!

[8.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#8) When you have rank, don't be afraid to _use it._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

[9.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#9) Sometimes, it’s okay to gloat.

[10.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#10) Always give your crew the recognition they deserve

[11.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#11) It’s not paranoia if your suspicions are rooted in truths.

[12.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#12) Don’t ignore your instincts

[13.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#13) Always assume the worst

[14.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#14) The lives of others are always more important than your own.

[15.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30384762#15) A good Captain is one who loves his ship and crew like the family they are

* * *

**Chapter 3**

[17.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30475881#17) Remain Strong

[18.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30475881#18) You will never be good enough

[19.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/30475881#19) Never give up hope

* * *

**Chapter 4**

[20.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/31030332#20) Sometimes you have to keep giving even after you’ve given your all.

[21.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/31030332#21) Never leave your kid with another Captain

[22.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/31030332#22) Be prepared for the worst-case scenario to get even worse

[23.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/31030332#23) Always trust your doctor.

[24.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/31030332#24) Rely on your friends and crew as much as yourself.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

[25.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955647/chapters/29615988#25) Your voyages may only be short, but the memories will last a life time.

**Starfleet Ranks**

Officers:  
Crewman (technically unranked)  
Ensign  
Lieutenant  
Lieutenant Commander  
Commander  
Captain  
Fleet Captain

Flag Officers:  
Commodore  
Rear Admiral  
Vice Admiral  
Admiral  
Fleet Admiral

Click to return to Top  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harangue me on [Tumblr!](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/) I'm there most of the time :)

**Author's Note:**

> once again you are blessed with entirely random and nonsensical updates! _*and there was much rejoicing*_
> 
> And also if some one wants to legally employ me and pay me a wage, that would be awesome.


End file.
